


Highland Games

by Tennyo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Human Castiel, M/M, and they're kind of on a case, and wearing kilts, but the Winchesters are hunters, kind of an AU, sex while wearing kilts, shameless kilt smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 09:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7527145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tennyo/pseuds/Tennyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something's causing problems at a a Highland Games festival, and the Winchesters are on the case. Mostly. Until Dean gets distracted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Highland Games

**Author's Note:**

> OK, so I am incapable of writing a PWP without some sort of backstory. ALL THE SMUT IS NEAR THE END  
> Completely unbeta'd, there's 20 minutes before the prompt is due and I'm sorry for weird typos or weird grammar.

This is the most embarrassing thing Dean's ever done.

And he's done a lot of strange shit.

He steps out of the bathroom in a fucking KILT.

Immediately, he points at Sam and says, "Don't you dare laugh."

Sam shakes his head and grins while he gathers up his own change of clothes. "Hey, I've got to wear one too."

"Yeah, whatever."

Dean catches himself in the mirror. The blue and green tartan actually doesn't look that bad, especially paired with his dark blue t-shirt, and you almost can't see how bow-legged he is. But WHY does he HAVE to wear a skirt? KILT, he tells himself, thinking of Sam's words when his brother had first produced the offending garments.

"They're traditional garb, and if we're going to go to the Highland Games in order to solve this case, then we need to fit in."

Dean curls his lip and sneers at the closed bathroom door.

\- - -

Dean and Sam are directed to pull the Impala into a grassy area, and as soon as they're slotted next to the other cars, Dean shuts off the engine. He really doesn't want to get out now that they're here, and on the way in, he saw plenty of men NOT wearing fucking kilts. Scowling at Sam, he crosses his arms.

"Wear a kilt, you said. Blend in with everyone else, you said," Dean says with a mocking tone.

Sam lets out a heavy sigh and plays with the dangly bits on his crotch bag thing. (Sam told him what it was, but he can't remember) "We are going to fit in better, because most of the contestants are actually wearing kilts. We need to find out what's been causing the freak accidents before someone really gets hurt."

Dean opens his door and grunts as he gets out of the car. "Fine." Slamming the door, he goes around and opens the trunk to see what he can fit into the little bag-- _sporran_ , that's what it's called. He gets a small salt canister, a silver knife, plastic bottle of holy water, and a custom collapsible police baton with an iron core.  Sam packs similar, but he also hauls out a drawstring bag with some other supplies (namely guns) that won't fit in their little crotch-purses.

\- - -

It's midday, and after watching people throw telephone poles, huge rocks, and other various heavy lifting, Dean hits up the food vendors. There's the typical carnival fare, deep fried anything, as well as some other things he's expect to see at a Scottish festival thing. Grabbing a couple hand-held meat pies, Dean heads to where they serve the beer.  With a beer in one hand and his food in the other, he tries to find a place to sit. There are no open tables, so he gives up and hopes for the corner of an occupied picnic table near the edge of the vending area. There's a guy with a white t-shirt and dark hair, and he's the only one at the table. Great.

Dean makes his way to the side of the table and asks, "Hey, do you mind if I sit here?"  With a mouthful of french-fries and wearing a pair of large sunglasses, the other guy nods, and gestures at the opposite end of the table.

"Thanks, man." Dean sets down his food and tries to figure out how to sit in the damn kilt. Best he can figure is to spread his legs and let the crotch purse dangle between.

The guy in front of him swallows his bite of fries and says, "Campbell clan?"

For a moment, Dean stares at him blankly until he remembers that Sam picked the colors he did because their mom's maiden name was Campbell, and it was a common enough tartan pattern. "Oh, uh, yeah. First time doing this, though. Sorry."

The guy across from him takes a sip of his drink, shakes his head, and swallows. "No, it's okay. I'm only doing this because my cousins needed another man on their tug of war team."

"Ahh..." Dean nods, and takes a bite of his meat pastry thing. It's pretty good, and he looks over at the other guy while he chews. He's got a couple day's worth of scruff going on, and while the large aviators he's wearing take up a lot of face real estate, Dean can still see the wide nose and cleft chin, his pink, creased lips. He wishes he had sunglasses himself, so he wouldn't get caught looking the guy over.

Digging into his food, Dean tries to avoid looking up at the man across from him. Once the last of the meat pies are gone, he takes a deep sip of his beer and notes the slightly sweaty curl of dark hair against the guy's temple. Before he can look away, Dean gets distracted by the way the guy's fingers are getting licked clean. Long, tan fingers with close cropped nails. Dean realizes he's staring as a tongue darts out, swiping across those lips, and he clears his throat, looking away.

He's thinking he's going to have to run away in shame, but the guy asks, "Are you registered for any of the competitions, Clan Campbell?"

Surprised, Dean looks up to find the guy has removed his sunglasses, and he stares into heavy-lidded blue eyes. "Uh, no, I just planned on, um, spectating."

The guy stands up, eyebrow raised. "I see. Well, if you're interested, I was planning on signing up for the backhold wrestling at three. Maybe I'll see you around."

Dean can't believe what's happening, and as he watches the guy turn to leave, he blurts, "So what's your clan?" and takes in the similarly patterned blue and green tartan, except with thin red and white stripes.

The trashcan is only a few steps away, and the guy dumps his wrappers before turning back to Dean. He walks up to the table and looks straight down at him. "Hunter. That's not my last name, but you can call me Cas."

Dean nods, and Cas gives him a half smile before sliding his sunglasses back on and once again turning to walk away. "My name's Dean," he manages to choke out, and Cas turns to face him again.

"Nice to meet you, Dean." With a nod of his head, Cas walks away.

It takes a moment for it to sink in that maybe, just maybe, Dean got hit on my a guy wearing a kilt.

\- - -

After a phone call with Sam confirming neither have found anything suspicious yet, Dean makes his way to where they're going to be doing the wrestling by ten 'til three. He's thinking of possibly competing, because he did pretty well on the wrestling team that one time in high school while he was at Sonny's. There's a mix of men and women here, most wearing kilts. There's no sign of Cas yet.

He decides to watch anyway, and notices the first pair take to the grass barefoot, and position themselves in what looks like an aggressive bro-hug. The rules are simple enough, keep your hands locked, arms around your opponent, and try to not have anything but your feet touch the ground. Dean's in the middle of cheering on a teenage girl totally kicking a guy's ass, when a gravelly voice at his ear makes him jump.

"Enjoying yourself?"

He turns to see Cas at his shoulder, with deep eye crinkles and a wide, gummy grin. Dammit, Dean got distracted enough to let the guy sneak up on him. "Well, I was on the wrestling team back in school."

Cas gives him an appraising look. "Is that so? You want to try it out?"

Blinking at Cas, Dean says, "Isn't it too late to sign up?"

Cas places his hand on Dean's shoulder. "There's always room for best out of five matches at the end. I'll get us a couple of forms."

And that's how, not that much later, Dean finds himself facing a shirtless Cas on the field, in front of onlookers. They're both stripped of shirts, socks, and anything that might get in the way other than their kilts and underwear. When the referee tells them to take their places, Cas gets serious, his face a mask as he gets close to Dean and opens his arms to get into position. Shaking his head to clear it, Dean wraps his arms around Cas, one over, one under, and places his chin on the man's shoulder. Locking his hands behind Cas' back, he tries to not get distracted by the smell of the guy.

Knees bent and in position, the referee calls out, and they begin to struggle for dominance. It seems easy enough, knock your opponent off balance, get them to trip and fall. But Cas is a solid weight, and even as they move around, Dean has a hard time kicking the guy's legs out from under him; especially when every time they move Dean can feel the kilt flapping around his legs. Then, Cas shifts his weight to the side, and next thing Dean knows, he's landing on his shoulder.

Cas helps him up, and they stand with the ref in between, who raises Cas' arm to denote him the winner of the first match. They get back into position, and Dean thinks he's going to try a thing. The ref calls for them to start, and Dean immediately shifts his hips, seeming to overcommit to one side. Cas takes the bait, and Dean shuffles one foot behind Cas' before he shifts back, and follows Cas to the ground.

They both land with a grunt, and Dean's plastered to Cas' front. With a wide grin, Dean gets on his hands and knees as Cas opens his eyes. There's a glint in them, and Dean knows he's going to be taken seriously this time. Dean hops up and holds his hand out to Cas, watching his abs clench as he pulls himself up, the flash of inner thigh where his kilt rode up.

The next time they get into position, Cas slides his arms around Dean touching as much skin as possible with his hands. He pulls his hips closer, and brushes their cheeks together when he places his head on Dean's shoulder.  Dean tries to not react, but gasps when Cas whispers in his ear, "It's exciting, meeting a worthy opponent."

The brush of breath across his ear, the words whispered distract Dean, and it's not long before this time he finds himself on his back, Cas leaning over him, straddling his leg and... Wait, is that a boner pressing against his thigh? Stunned, Dean lets his head fall back as Cas crawls off of him with a smirk. So it's going to be like that, is it?

Their next match lasts longer, and becomes strangely erotic grappling. They shift position, And Dean can feel Cas trying to throw him, but he keeps shifting his weight back out of it. They circle around each other for a bit, kilts flaring out behind them, and then Dean finds a thigh between his own. Remembering the press of a possible erection against his leg, Dean's distracted enough to find both he and Cas bouncing on one leg, trying to not be the first to fall. When they do topple, Cas twists and pulls Dean under, so that once again he's facing the sky.

Also once again, he finds Cas leaning his hips in, thigh grinding up against Dean's crotch. Cas gives him a little smirk before rolling off, and Dean finds himself breathless from more than just exertion and being thrown to the ground. Rolling onto his side, Dean hopes that these kilts are good at hiding boners. He stands, the ref announces Cas the winner, and then they shake hands. Cas pulls him in for a pat on the back, and leads him off the field.

While they pull on shirts, socks and shoes, Cas never glances over at him once, and Dean's beginning to think he imagined whatever happened between them back there. But when he struggles to get his sporran back on, Cas comes over to help, and he drags fingertips against Dean's skin at every step. It's maddening.

With women, Dean can get some leading flirting in, find out how interested they are. With men, he's likely to get punched if he's read his signals wrong. He's so, so hoping he's not reading Cas' signals wrong, but doesn't know how to continue. Cas helps him out, by asking if he'd like to go to the whisky tasting next. Whisky tasting? Hell yes! Although that could just still be friendly, so Dean hopes to get a few more clues.

When they enter the building and Cas pays for Dean's $25 tasting fee, he's really hoping for more than just friendly gestures. They're seated in comfy chairs, and five glasses are set before each of them, while the man dispensing the amber liquor extols the virtue of each bottle that Dean could never hope to afford. He tries to take his time and sip slowly, tasting the differences of flavor in each glass. It's something he's never done before, because drinking usually has a purpose.

Plus, it doesn't hurt that Cas is fairly pleasing to look at as well. Eventually the guy who poured their glasses goes away, and Dean swirls the whisky in his glass, sniffing it like he was shown. While he can taste the differences in each brand, it's still just whisky.

He decides to see which way Cas might swing, and leans toward him, lets the back of his occupied hand brush the one of Cas' not holding a glass. When Cas looks at him, Dean deliberately maintains eye contact and slowly licks his lips. He feels a little electric thrill when Cas' eyes follow the movement.

"So what do you do when not inviting guys to wrestle and wine tastings?" Dean gives his best "ladykiller" smile.

Cas tilts his head, lowers his lashes and says, "I work for a charitable organization."

Ha. He's heard that line before, used it himself a couple times. Gonna play his bluff. "Is that so? Which organization?"

Without missing a beat or batting an eyelash, Cas answers, "I'm the Development Director for my local chapter of Habitat for Humanity. Why, what do you do?"

Stunned by Cas' answer, Dean sits in silence for a moment. Wow. Cas is sitting there, waiting for an answer, and suddenly all of Dean's usual lines seem lame in comparison. He lifts his drink to his lips and mumbles across the rim, "Nothing as important as that."

Cas gives him a onceover. "It doesn't matter if you're a grocery cashier, work in waste management, or are the CEO of a large company. Every person is important, and never think that your occupation has no meaning."

Dean cannot believe this guy right now. Do people like this really exist? Taking a sip of whisky to avoid responding right away, Dean watches Cas watch him back. This guy is completely out of his league, and now he's wondering how to back out of all this.

"I apologize for making you uncomfortable. Sometimes I forget the finer points of socializing." Cas leans back in his chair, spreads his legs a little wider, and continues. "However, I am less interested in your occupation as I am in knowing what your plans are for the rest of the evening."

Okay, so the game's still on. Regardless of what this guy does for a living, Dean would really like to get under that kilt. Leaning closer to Cas, he says, "I'm visiting from out of town with my brother, but I'd say the rest of my evening is completely open, if you have any suggestions."

Cas sets down his glass and leans closer to Dean as well. "Unfortunately, I'm also from out of town, and staying with my cousins. I don't think an evening spent with that crowd, who plan on getting quite inebriated, are quite what either of us have in mind?"

Oh, this... is actually happening. Has he mentioned it's been a very long time since he's even tried to pick up a guy, let alone be successful at it? Dean's mind spins in circles, trying to figure out how to respond.

"Everyone's gotta eat." Real smooth, Dean.

Cas chuckles lightly. "That's true. I'm thinking something other than vendor stall fare though?"

"Whatever floats your boat," Dean says with a shrug. He internally cringes at how lame he's being right now. Where the hell did Mr. Smooth and Confident go?

Swallowing the last of the contents of his glass, Cas stands up. "Are you going to be okay to drive? I carpooled here, and we've both had quite a bit of whisky."

Dean looks down at the last little bit of liquor in his glass, and sets it down. There'd only been a couple of mouthfuls of each of the varieties, and he can definitely drink more than that on a regular night and still be good to drive. Still, he doesn't want to chase this guy off. "Maybe we can walk around a bit, burn some of the alcohol off, then we can go?"

With a nod, Cas smoothes down his kilt with his hands. "That sounds like a good idea anyway, I need some things, and it might take a while to find who has the keys to the van."

They both purchase bottles of water, and go looking for Cas' cousins. The first one they find is playing with bagpipes. Dean can't tell the difference between bagpipe music and random noise, so he's not sure if what the guy is producing fits either category. Cas calls and waves to the guy with light brown hair way too similar to Sam's in length, and thankfully, the noise comes to a wheezing halt. This cousin, who Cas calls Gabe, gives Dean a onceover and gives Cas a thumbs up before telling him to go find Alfie.

After what feels like circling the whole grounds, they find Alfie flirting with a girl in a purple kilt, near the children's area. He's young and skinny, and seems friendly enough when Cas approaches him. He even comes over to shake Dean's hand when Cas points him out.

"Nice to meet you, Dean."

The kid may be skinny, but he's got a helluva firm grip. Alfie leads them back to the parking area, and to a silver minivan. After Dean appreciates the view of Cas crawling into the back, he pulls his phone out of his manpurse to text Sam.

_-Think you need to find your own ride_

By the time Cas is exiting the van, the rock riff of Dean's ringtone lets him know Sam's not happy. "What's up, Sammy?" he answers.

"Dean! We're supposed to be working a case, not chasing girls."

Dean holds up a finger and walks out of earshot. "Who says I'm chasing girls?"

"So when I get back to the motel, there's not going to be a sock on the door?"

"Depends on when you get back, little brother," he says with a smirk.

"You are disgusting, Dean. I haven't found anything suspicious anyway. Really glad I took the bag this morning, since I'm probably going to need to find another room tonight."

Dean looks over his shoulder at Cas, who is in deep discussion with Alfie. "I dunno, if I ask nice I know a group of guys who might have an extra bed open, as long as you don't mind their partying."

"What?"

Dean looks up from his phone and sees Cas looking at him with a creased brow. "Listen, I gotta go. If you find anything, text, don't call. Unless it's an emergency. And I mean broken bone, gunshot wound kind of emergency."

"Dean, wai--" He cuts off the call and jams his phone back in the manpurse as he walks back to Cas, Alfie already having gone back to the games.

"Sorry about that, my brother wasn't happy he had to find another ride."

"Oh." Cas' mouth curls down. "I could arrange for my cousins to..."

"Nah, he's got it handled." Dean is determined to not have Sam cockblock him in absentia on this one. He's fully capable of finding some kind soul willing to either drop him off or even take him home for the night. "So, where we headed?"

\- - -

Cas gives Dean driving instructions to a decent but not fancy steakhouse on the way back to town. Not sure how Cas is going to order, Dean chooses a middle-of-the-road steak. Cas orders something similar, but with mushrooms. When the waiter asks what they'll be having to drink, Cas asks him to give them a minute.

As soon as the waiter's gone, Cas says, "I don't wish to presume, but I guess what we drink is dependent on where the evening is going to wind down." His voice is low and gravelly, and he's giving Dean this intense look.

Throat suddenly dry, Dean takes a sip of the water that was poured as soon as they sat down. Well. So this is it, sink or swim. Clearing his throat, Dean says, "I, ah, was kind of hoping to end up somewhere... um, with you tonight."

He watches as Cas' eyes widen, and then a slow smile spreads across the guy's face. It starts with eye crinkles, and then a wide grin, all teeth and gums. Cas leans forward, and Dean can feel a foot slide between his own.

"Tell me, Dean. Would you prefer beer or wine?"

Getting through dinner is an exercise in patience, and the flirting ratchets up a notch. Now that he knows the game is on, Dean can relax and get back into the groove. When their steaks arrive, Dean watches as Cas cuts his up first before eating, whereas Dean's used to just cutting off hunks as he eats. He watches as the fork disappears between Cas' lips, and can't help but envision the way they'd look with his cock going there instead. It also doesn't help that Cas's foot keeps sliding up his bare calf, reminding him that they're both wearing fucking kilts. At one point, a bit of mushroom gravy ends up at the corner of Cas' mouth, and the way he licks it off has Dean biting his own tongue.

When he finally finishes eating, Dean excuses himself to go to the restroom. Swerving for a stall, he locks the door and glares at his crotch. He's had an erection going for the last fifteen minutes, and it's really getting annoying because the man-purse full of hunting supplies has been flopping against it this whole time. And he's really gotta piss. Hiking up his kilt and pushing down the front of his underwear, he takes the offending organ in hand and tries to focus on urinating. After a couple minutes of thinking about gross things, he finally gets it to go down enough to aim at the toilet, and he straightens himself back up before going to wash his hands.

While drying off with a couple of paper towels, he has another thought. Does he have lube? He's got condoms, sure. But the last time he's needed anything... special... for sex, well, it's been a while. And who's going to play catcher and receiver?  With these thoughts occupying his brain, he heads back out into the dining area to see Cas standing near the entrance, waving him over.

"Are you ready to go?"

Dean nods, and pushes through the door. "Yeah, let's go." The short trip from the restaurant to the motel, Cas slides closer, and places a hand on Dean's thigh. When he pulls into the motel's parking lot, Dean wonders if this was such a good idea after all. Cas paid for both drinks and dinner, and here Dean is taking him to a crappy motel, instead of something nicer. His room is on the far end, and right now their section of the lot is fairly deserted. It's the middle of summer, so the sun is still up, and casting a golden, hazy glow.

After shutting off the engine, he turns to Cas and says, "Well, it's a little disappointing, but this is it."

Cas doesn't take his eyes from Dean as he slides his hand up and around the nape of Dean's neck, and pulls him into a gentle kiss on the lips. He pulls away and says, "You thought I'd judge you based on where you're staying, at a time when finding any lodging is a challenge? I thought you were paying more attention, Dean."

He leans in again, and kisses Dean more firmly, teases with the tip of his tongue. "As long as the bed is clean, and you're on it, I don't see the problem," he growls against Dean's mouth.

That goads Dean into motion, pushing his hands up under Cas' shirt, deepening their kiss, exploring Cas' mouth. After a few moments they pull apart, breathing heavy and lips swollen. "Room?" Dean pants against Cas' cheek.

In a blink, Cas slides back towards his side of the car, and opens his door. He's out of the car and leaning in before Dean can process, and says, "What are you waiting for?"

Dean scrambles to get out of the car and to the motel room's door in record time, almost dropping the room key in the process. He holds the door open, and Cas enters, a small rucksack over his shoulder. After Dean closes the door, suddenly the atmosphere is awkward. Sure it was all hot and heavy in the car, but Cas just calmly sits down in a chair and rummages through his bag. What's he supposed to do now?

Just to have something to do, Dean busies himself with taking off his sporran, and his boots. Before he can get much further, Cas looks up at him, a couple of condoms and a bottle of Astroglide in his hand. Cas purses his lips. "Shirt off, keep the kilt on." Then he places his items on the nightstand before turning back to Dean, and strips his shirt off while toeing off his shoes.

Dean quickly pulls off his shirt and steps in front of Cas, who grabs Dean's hips and manhandles him until he feels the backs of his knees against the mattress. Cas presses up against him, lining up the ridges of their cocks, scruff grazing Dean's jaw as he whispers, "Touch me, Dean."

That's all he needs, and soon Dean is sliding his hands up Cas' muscular back, feeling the planes of muscle he competed against earlier. Except now, he can take his time and enjoy the experience. Arms under Cas' he grips the man's shoulders from behind and pulls him away, enjoying the sight of the toned, tan chest before him before looking at Cas' mouth and leaning in for a heated, sloppy kiss.

Hips slowly grinding together, Dean shudders when Cas reaches down and slides his hand under Dean's kilt, getting a good grip on his ass. Dean moans into Cas' mouth, picking up the pressure and pace of his grinding. He's starting to get desperate. Cas pushes on Dean's chest, causing him to fall back on the bed with a bounce. Pinning Dean with a look, Cas pulls up the front of Dean's kilt, revealing his grey boxerbriefs, his cock a heavy line, and a wet spot where the tip has been leaking.

Grabbing the waistband, Cas yanks them down and off, leaving Dean in nothing but his kilt, cock exposed. Cas makes a satisfied noise deep in his throat, and spreads Dean's legs apart, fingers caressing the insides of his thighs. But then he moves away, towards the bathroom, causing Dean to suppress a whine. Returning with a towel, Cas tosses it on the bed and reaches for the lube and one of the condoms. He leans over Dean, hands pressed into the bedspread on either side of Dean's head, and gives him a deep kiss, while Dean feels the fabric from Cas' kilt brush against his cock.

Wanting more, Dean reaches down and grabs a double handful of Cas' meaty ass and grinds up, not caring if he smears precome all over the front of Cas' kilt. Cas obliges, pressing down, and Dean can feel their lengths press against each other. Dammit, but he wants to see it.

Dean tries to undo the buckles of Cas' kilt, but Cas stands up, pulling away from his grasping hands. "Patience, Dean."

This time he doesn't suppress the whine as Cas leans forward and breathes against Dean's cock, tells him to scoot back a little, to which he quickly obliges. Once Dean's settled, Cas crawls up on the bed, and sits on his heels between Dean's thighs.  He spreads his own thighs, pushing Dean's legs even wider apart. Then, he drags his hands up his own thighs, exposing his beefy quads and his own white boxers.

Dean salivates as Cas holds his kilt up with one hand, while pulling down the waistband of his shorts with the other, revealing a full, thick, slightly curved cock. God, but he wants to taste it. Cas' thumb slides behind his cock and pushes it forward, before he lets the waistband slide up again, and he drops his kilt, hiding the prize. Dean must make some kind of disappointed noise, because Cas looks into his eyes and says, "Don't worry, you'll get to see it again, very soon." And with that, he reaches out, giving Dean's dick a squeeze.

Thinking they're finally getting somewhere, Dean rocks his hips up into the pressure, but Cas releases him, and reaches for the condom he left on the bed. Unwrapping the condom, he places it into his mouth, and gives Dean a smirk. Holy shit, is Cas gonna do what he thinks he's going to do? Cas grabs Dean's cock again, holding it firmly before pressing the tip of his tongue to Dean's cockhead, and then rolling the condom down his length with his mouth.

Dean lets out a groan as Cas slowly slides up and off, his mouth keeping a tight seal. Shit, that's only happened to him a couple of times before, and it's somehow even hotter watching a man swallow him down while putting a condom on. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to kill me."

"Don't be ridiculous," Cas says, before swallowing him down again.

Fuck. What did Dean do right to deserve finding someone like Cas today? He hears the click of the lube opening, and then the feel of cool, slick fingers massaging behind his balls. All thought escapes him as Cas slips his fingers down between Dean's asscheeks, and slicks up and down his crack. Having given up trying to figure out the game plan, Dean slides both hands into Cas' thick hair and holds on for the ride.

While Cas gives him a slow blowjob, his fingers circle Dean's entrance, the tip of one finger massaging the puckered muscle. Eager to get things moving, Dean relaxes back there, and feels the tip of a finger dip in. Making encouraging noises, he feels the finger slip in slowly, exploring, twisting. Cas takes his cock deep and moans, causing Dean to clench around his digit.

"Fuck, if you're not careful, this is gonna be over before you can get started."

Cas hums through his nose and slides back up until just the head of Dean's cock is in his mouth, and he laps at it. Dean bucks in retaliation, and Cas gives Dean's rim a stretch with his finger, reminding him who's in control for now. Finger wriggling around some more, Dean feels the tip of a second finger press against his rim, and he relaxes to allow entry. Cas is careful as he slips the other finger almost all the way out, and lines them up to minimize stretch until both fingertips are inside.

Cas lets up on Dean's cock, and he's grateful, choosing to concentrate on keeping relaxed as Cas stretches him open. It's not until both fingers are deep inside that Cas reaches with the thumb of his other hand and simultaneously presses against Dean's perineum and prostate, causing him to moan and clench. This was definitely not what he was expecting when he decided to see if Cas was worth pursuing. As Cas gives his prostate one more rub before continuing to scissor him open, Dean's glad he took the chance.

After what feels like too long, the attention on both his cock and ass more teasing than satisfying, Cas pulls his fingers out, pops his mouth off the head of Dean's cock, and reaches for the towel. Dean takes the moment to breathe, wondering just what Cas has planned next. He's glad when Cas reaches for the other condom and wastes no time in kicking off his boxers and sliding it over his swollen, neglected dick.

Licking his lips and staring at Cas through his eyelashes, Dean asks, "You finally gonna give it to me, Cas?"

Cas hums, and contemplates before undoing the buckles of his own kilt and tossing it off the bed. Dean reaches for his buckles, but Cas says "No, not yet. Roll over, face down, ass up."

Normally Dean's might say something snarky in response, but he NEEDS to have Cas inside him like YESTERDAY, and will follow instructions if that gets him there any faster. So he rolls over, and gets on his knees, arching so that his ass is poised and pretty, face resting in his forearms. The bed shifts, and he feels Cas spread his knees a little wider, palming his ass. Fingers separate his cheeks, exposing his stretched hole, and he relaxes it, hoping that makes it look more inviting. There's the click of the cap, and the cold, wet sensation of lube being poured directly onto his opening.

With a yelp, Dean clenches, and he can hear Cas chuckle behind him. "Not cool, dude," Dean says as he readjusts back into position.

"My apologies, won't happen again."

One warm palm rests on Dean's lower back, and he feels Cas come closer, the slick head of his cock sliding up and down his crack, catching on his rim. Moaning, Dean leans into it, and Cas asks, "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

Slowly, Cas pushes against his hole until the ridge of his head pops past the ring. And then he stops. Growling, Dean pushes back again, but Cas strokes Dean's lower back, shushes him, and starts pushing in slowly again. Dean honestly doesn't care how long it's been since the last time he did this, but he needs to be filled up now, and Cas is going too damn slow. He keeps rocking his hips and whining, waiting for Cas to get with the program.

The burn and stretch feels better than expected though, and when Cas pauses, pressed all the way in, their balls touching, Dean lets out a sigh of relief. He tries clenching, but the sting's a bit too much, so instead of admitting maybe Cas was right, Dean relaxes his body further, rocking his ass up into even more of an enticing display.

There's some shuffling with the towel, and then both hands grasp Dean's hips as Cas makes short thrusting motions, pulling a little bit further out each time. By about the fifth push, Cas nails his prostate, and Dean lets out a surprised gasp. With a hum, Cas pulls all the way out and slides back in, and the pressure against his prostate elicits a moan. Goddamn, the few time's Dean's been with a guy, he's never had this kind of attention spent on him. After a couple more slow thrusts like that, Cas stops and carefully maneuvers Dean so he's on his side, one calf over Cas' shoulder.

He picks up the pace, and Dean finally gets what he's been wanting. He can feel the bed rock underneath him, and he feels Cas' body brush along the length of his leg with each push. Not sure how long Cas is planning on going, Dean avoids touching his dick, going along for the ride, one hand in his hair as he puts on a show; biting his lip, running his hand across his body, giving his best sultry stare and moaning when it lines up just right.

Cas' pace begins to pick up, and Dean thinks it's time for the final act, so he reaches for his cock. But Cas grabs his wrist, and slows his pace until he's seated balls-deep. Releasing Dean's leg, Cas levers down and licks into Dean's mouth. Dean wraps his legs around Cas' waist, and grinds up in circles, demanding more with his body.

"Dean," Cas moans when he releases his mouth, "I want you to ride me, I want to see you come on top of me."

Oh, fuck, this guy is just too much. With a smirk, Dean replies, "Ride'em, cowboy."

They roll over together, and Dean gives Cas another long kiss before pushing himself up to finally get rid of the damn kilt, and finding a good position for bouncing up and down on that perfectly curved dick until he comes. He doesn't care how sore he is tomorrow, it's all been worth it.

Giving Cas a taste of his own medicine, he starts with slow hip rolls, enjoying the brush and pressure against his prostate. When he feels fingers dig into his thighs, he picks up the pace, sliding up and down no more than a couple inches. But Dean knows his limits, and knows he can't hold this position for long, so he rests his hands on Cas' chest, and really goes to town, pulling up as far as he dares before slapping back down. He's rewarded with Cas levering up to meet him, and fuck it's so damn good, the head of Cas' cock hitting his prostate on every push. Dean almost forgets to bother with his own cock, until Cas releases his deathgrip on Dean's thighs with one hand to wrap it around his length, offering a counterstroke.

"Oh, god, fuck!" Dean cries out, throwing his head back and giving up all pretense, riding Cas to the finish line.

Cas whimpers Dean's name, his cock grows rock hard, and then he's coming with breathy shouts, face contorted in ecstasy, while Dean clenches and rides him out the last little bit before he's coming too, hips spasming with a lost rhythm, head hanging down and mouth wide as he sucks in air.  Arms trembling, Dean rests his forehead on Cas' chest. Looking down at his filled condom, Dean fantasizes what his come would looks like smeared all over Cas' torso, how it would feel to have come pulsing into his ass.

He also has the urge to just lie down on Cas, let the other man hold him up, feel arms wrap around him as they come down from their mind blowingly awesome orgasms. But that's not what hook ups are about, it's about layers of protection, no attachments, moving on. Still, when Cas shifts, pulling out of him, he feels like he's losing something. Dammit.

Before he slides any deeper into that mindset, Dean rolls off of Cas, and leans to the side as he slips off his condom, ties it off and aims for the nearest waste basket. He's surprised when he feels the touch of the towel between his legs, Cas wiping away the last of the lube that'd gotten smeared around. He's even more surprised when he feels an arm tentatively come to rest around him from behind.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Cas?"

"If it would bother you, please say so, but... I..."

"Just spit it out, man."

"I would like to stay the night," Cas says softly.

Dean bites back the grin his mouth is trying to form. Where the hell did this guy come from? He's straight out of Dean's secret fantasies. "Yeah, you can stay."

"Will it bother your brother too much?"

He thinks about his suspiciously silent phone. "Nah, I'm sure he's found someone to crash with, we're good."

With a satisfied grunt, Cas tightens his arm around Dean, and sighs into the nape of Dean's neck. "Thank you, Dean."

Humming in response, Dean settles against Cas, enjoying the comforting warmth of someone behind him.

\- - -

When he wakes the next morning, Dean feels disoriented. Instead of a warm comfort at his back, there's only a scratchy motel blanket. Since he didn't have much to drink last night, the soreness in his muscles and ass brings back yesterday and last night in vivid detail. He tries to ignore the pang of disappointment that Cas didn't hang around after all. After hobbling to the bathroom and texting Sam that it's safe to return, Dean collapses facedown on the bed to try to get a little more sleep in.

Sam wakes him an hour later, jabbering about some kind of ruckus that happened after Dean and Cas left. Apparently, whatever was causing disturbances was a ghost, and its next target was in the infirmary tent. But before Sam could figure out what the ghost was attached to, someone set the tent on fire.

"It had to have been other hunters, Dean. Who else would have known to not just burn it, but salt it, too?"

"Yeah, whatever. As long as the case is closed. It's not like we get paid for this shit."

Sam grunts in reply, and kicks off his shoes. "Dibs on the first shower." He pads over to the table, and stops to look at something. "Huh."

"What?"

"Looks like your playdate left you a note." There's a pause, and then Sam bursts out into laughter.

Dean rolls onto his back to glare at him. "What is it, Sammy?"

Sam holds up the complimentary notepad with the hotel's logo. "What are the chances that you'd hook up with a hunter?"

Curiosity getting the better of him, Dean sits up and reaches out for the note.

In neat handwritten print is the message:

 

 

 

> Dean,
> 
> I would like nothing more than to wake up with you in the morning, but it seems my cousins have gotten in some legal trouble involving fire, and I must help them out.
> 
> Thank you for the lovely evening, and if you're ever in the area again, and would like to meet, feel free to give me a call.
> 
> \--C

Below that are ten digits.

Dean laughs softly to himself, and plans on saving those numbers in his phone.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE:  
> YES, the Campbell clan tartan is blue and green, and interestingly enough, the same pattern as Priestly's kilt in "Ten Inch Hero." Yes, THAT Priestly, the same one played by Jensen.  
> And there is a Hunter clan tartan!
> 
> Haha, another Coldest Hits challenge down! And it's light on crack? What's the world coming to!  
> Yes, I posted under my main pseud, because it's not crack.  
> [July's Prompt](http://spncoldesthits.tumblr.com/post/146648925185/julys-prompt-posting-dates-15-18-of-july-the) that I selected:  
> 


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